A Childhood

Beginning

Every parent’s fear is to see their child unhappy. To see them come home with bruises, blood, scabs, scars, twisted and broken bones is a reality of horror. It was exactly what Sarah and James Longhorn had to watch every day.

         Of course they tried to help their son. What kind of parent would watch without trying to fix the problem? But it was this problem that had no real official cure. Like cancer, every available treatment wasn’t guaranteed to cure.

         They tried everything. Social gatherings, counselling; places like parks and beaches – surely he could find a friend. And they saw it in their son’s eyes – it was hopeless, and he saw their sadness behind their eyes. He hated that. As if he’d let them down or something. 

         Of course he lied. If he limped, he would simply say he tripped on a stair, or rolled his ankle when an actual fact he was pinned down, screaming into his enemy’s sweaty palm whilst they dropped heavy rocks onto his legs, breaking a small bone in his ankle.

         Sarah had cried when the x-ray pictures came out.

He began counselling. All of them did.

         “Maybe he’ll tell them?” Sarah forced a smile convinced. Her husband slightly smiled, but he knew his son wouldn’t budge. They both knew the truth of course, but they needed to hear it from their young son.

         ‘It will pass,’ he thought, as he sniffled into his pillow, clutching his scratched arm after being sliced by a metal ruler. ‘One day I’ll make a friend.’

         The more he kept it quiet though, the worse it got. Not just school life, but home as well. They begged for him to tell them, why he had come home early. Was he really feeling ill? Or was that freshly bruised eye the problem?

         Not an eye was dry at night. One of them would always be crying silently. Sometimes, he wasn’t too quiet enough, and Sarah would come in and comfort him.

         “Things will be better,” she promised.

         “Why do they hate me?” he would whimper. She would have to hide her face to cover up her own tears.

         “It’s not your fault darling. You didn’t do anything.”

         “They act as if I have.” He wouldn’t dare face her. He wouldn’t want to see her crying as well as him. He would hear her sniff deeply and pretend to cover it up with a cough.

         “Um…no, you haven’t. They’re just jealous. Or bored or something.”

         “Bored!?” he would cry. “What? Their idea of entertainment is to see a kid bashed to pulp?”

         Sarah would pause, “they do that to you?”

         ‘She can’t know the truth,” he thought. ‘It’ll make it worse.’

         He would sit up. “No…maybe I’m just exaggerating.”

         “Please. Please Jack, tell me what’s going on. Please tell me what they do to you. I can fix it!” she convinced herself. He would shake his head in the dark to himself.

         “They don’t do anything mum. Maybe I’m just a bit clumsy. Look, I’m tired…”

         She would sigh and leave, wiping her eyes.

         He wouldn’t dare let out another tear.